Six Months
by Kristen Elizabeth
Summary: Sara envied Greg Sanders' future bride. It took her six months to find true love in the crime lab. Not six years. GSR
1. Six Months

Disclaimer: Characters within do not belong to me, no matter how much I delude myself. 

Author's Notes: Happy Season Six Premiere Day, everyone! And thanks for reading!

* * *

Six Months

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_Cause it's you and me and all of the people with nothing to do,  
Nothing to lose.  
And it's you and me and all of the people,  
And I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you._

* * *

Greg Sanders had never been quite as nervous as he was right then. Valedictorian speech at his high school graduation…easy. Asking out his college crush, the sorority princess who let him do her chemistry homework…no prob. Facing Grissom after failing his proficiency test…piece of cake. But this was bigger than public speaking or dates or even his career. He was about to ask Dr. Bethany Clyde, the lab's on-site forensic psychologist, and his girlfriend of six months, to be his wife.

And the entire LVPD crime lab was watching him.

Damn the glass walls.

"My money's on her saying 'yes'." Warrick Brown produced a twenty from the pocket of his pants, never taking his eyes off the couple in the main corridor of the lab. "She likes his music, his hair and his jokes."

"Still gotta go with 'I need time to think'." Nick Stokes added his own twenty to the pot. "The music's a fluke, the hair can be considered trendy, and as for the jokes…there's no accounting for taste. Nothing solid there."

"You're still sore that she wasn't into you."

His friend made a scoffing sound. "I have a rule against dating shrinks, even forensic ones. You know that."

Warrick waited to reply until Greg got down on one knee in front of the pretty doctor in question. "I wouldn't blame you if you were. Old Greggo really hit the lottery with her. Beauty and brains and she doesn't get sick over decomps."

On the other side of the glass-walled corridor, Sara Sidle had the same thought as she watched the scene unfolding in front of them. Her CSI eye for detail took in every expression on Dr. Clyde…on Bethany's face. Puzzlement to shock to teary happiness…and Greg hadn't even flashed the ring yet. Did the woman, who Sara had only recently started to consider a potential friend, have any idea just how lucky she was?

Six months had passed since she'd been hired by Ecklie, his first executive decision that truly benefited the lab. Only six months since she'd met and started dating their tow-headed young colleague. Only six months. Not six years.

As much as she hated the feeling, Sara couldn't help but be jealous of Bethany Clyde, soon to be Sanders if the look on her face was any indication of what her answer might be. She had found love in the crime lab. And it hadn't run away from her, rejected her, or sent her a plant for her trouble. Instead, it was kneeling in front of her, looking deathly nervous, but bravely asking to be a part of her life forever in front of God and all of their co-workers.

Yeah, she was just a teeny bit green with envy.

"Sara, where do you and Greg stand on the Ely rape…" Gil Grissom trailed off as he entered the room, looked up and saw her staring through the glass wall. "What's going on?"

She pointed to where Greg was finishing up his speech. He reached into the inside pocket of his corduroy jacket and produced a jeweler's box, the same one he'd shown to Sara earlier for her feminine approval. One and a half karats set in platinum. Hard to disapprove.

"Greg's proposing to Bethany," she said, careful not to let any excess emotion into her words. Grissom would pick up on it. He always did. Even if he never acknowledged it.

"So soon? They've only been dating for…"

"Six months." She lifted one shoulder. "Guess some guys just know right away."

She felt him come up behind her, to watch over her shoulder as Greg opened up the box to reveal the ring. Bethany's hand flew to her mouth; Sara was surprised she didn't blink in the glare of the massive diamond. She had.

"I think you're paying him too much," Sara noted. He had a presence that surrounded her when he was close; it pulled her like a magnet. She fought back the desire to lean back, into the solidity of his body.

"A man in love ought never to enter a jewelry store."

"Who said that?"

"An old friend of mine."

She loved his voice, would do or say anything to keep him talking. "I take it he spoke from experience."

"Well, he was married twice, and had, if rumors can be believed, just as many mistresses. I'd imagine a large portion of his salary went to keeping women placated with shiny objects."

In the corridor, Greg took the ring out of the box as he continued to talk; she wished she could hear what he was saying. Whatever it was, it was working. Bethany smiled through a steady stream of tears.

"Not all women need shiny objects," she said, a bit wistfully.

There was a long pause, during which Bethany began nodding. Both Sara and Grissom, as well as the rest of the lab, watched as Greg slipped the ring onto his new fiancée's finger and stood up, a wide grin on his face.

"I wouldn't need them" Sara continued. "I'd just need…words."

Bethany threw her arms around Greg's neck as he lifted her off the ground in a tight embrace. There was a smattering of applause all around them, but the couple was completely oblivious.

Sara struggled with a sudden lump in her throat. "The Ely rape." She turned to face Grissom for the first time since he'd come up behind her. "DNA is pending. Hodges says the fibers are nothing but white cotton. Impossible to trace. I can check with Mia if…" She stopped to take a breath, but never picked back up.

His eyes were so sad as they stared into hers. "Sara," he started. "I need to…"

"Grissom. You don't." Sara sidestepped him and started for the door. "I'll beep you with the DNA results as soon as I get them. Greg's gonna be useless to me today."

She stopped on her way to the locker room just long enough to congratulate the happy couple. Once inside the relative privacy of the empty room, she let the lump in her throat dissolve into twin tears. They were the last two, she told herself. The very last tears she would ever shed over Gil Grissom.

* * *

_All of the things that I want to say just aren't coming out right.  
I'm tripping on words;  
You've got my head spinning.  
I don't know where to go from here._

* * *

Sara allowed herself one glass of wine at the end of what had been the longest shift of her entire career thus far. She told herself it was to toast Greg's future happiness, but in reality she need the warmth of the alcohol as it pooled into her empty stomach. And she didn't care if it was a step backwards. She'd never been an alcoholic; she'd just made a few bad choices. Everyone deserved a single drink after an emotionally challenging day.

While sipping her single drink, she debated the merits of fashioning a meal out of the various leftover cartons of Chinese in her fridge, or scrapping them all and ordering fresh ones. She had just about decided on a steaming order of dumplings over a reheated batch when her phone rang.

Confused, she hesitated to answer it. The bulk of the calls she received were work-related, and those all came through her cell. Her land line was usually the recipient of telemarketing calls. But maybe shooting down a bored, underpaid telemarketer would make her feel a little bit better. She reached across the counter and answered on the third ring.

"Sara?" the voice on the other answer replied to her greeting.

"Grissom?" She nearly choked on the rim of her wine glass. "How did you…I didn't know you had this number."

"I do," he replied. A second passed. "I'm going to start talking, and you're not going to interrupt me or stop me, even if I pause for more than a few seconds, all right?"

"What do you mean?"

On the other end, she heard him sigh. "Just let me do this, Sara. You've done all of the talking in what has thus far passed for our relationship, and now it's my turn."

She took another fortifying sip. "Go ahead."

"All right." Grissom cleared his throat. "You are…important to me. Important to me like my work is important to me, and you know how I am about that."

She wanted to say something to that, but per their agreement, she silently nodded.

"The colleague I mentioned earlier, he was my thesis professor at UCLA, for my master's, and again for my PhD. A great scientist, probably one of the smartest people I've ever known. But when it came to relationships, he was deficient. To say the least. Marriages, affairs, he had plenty of them. But he couldn't keep any of them together. And eventually…it affected his work." He paused. "At my final graduation ceremony, the pinnacle of my academic career, I was hooded by a professor I'd never met because my mentor was being served with divorce papers by his second wife, who happened to be a former student of his."

He took a breath, then continued. "I was twenty-two. It was probably unwise to form my own opinions about work and romance and the relationship between the two right then, with such a bad example in front of me. But I did. I told myself that you could be good at one or the other, but not both. Obviously, you know which one I chose to concentrate on."

"You were only seven years old when I was setting those opinions into stone, Sara," Grissom went on after another short pause. "If you'd told that twenty-two year old idiot that there was a little girl out there who would someday grow into a beautiful woman, and that she would challenge every belief he held dear, he would have…well, he probably would have ignored you. But internally, he would have been laughing at you. Condescendingly, I might add. Because he was so sure of himself. So sure that he'd figured it all out. That he knew what he wanted from life, and that he knew how to make it happen, and more importantly, he knew what he had to sacrifice in order to have it. He didn't realize how wrong he was…or what a complete ass he was…until the day you walked into his lecture hall."

A full minute went by without anything more. Sara could hear him breathing through the phone, so she knew he was all right. He was likely recovering from the depth and breadth of the speech he'd just given. She'd never heard him talk so much about himself in such a concentrated amount of time. Ever.

But when another minute passed and he still hadn't talked, she finally said, "Why are you telling me all of this now?"

Grissom spoke clearly, precisely. "In six months, I'm going to ask you to marry me."

The mostly empty wine glass slipped out of Sara's hand and shattered on the kitchen tiles.

"Sara! Are you all right?"

She ignored the broken glass, ignored the tiny shard that had embedded in her bare foot, and concentrated on breathing. "I'm fine. Except maybe for my hearing. Did you just say…"

"You heard me fine," he said. "Sara, I'm turning fifty this year. I'm probably the leading authority in America on forensic entomology. I've devoted the majority of my life towards being the best. But I live alone, in what some have described as a hermetically sealed townhouse. I can count the number of people I personally care about on my hands, and only one of them isn't a co-worker. I've made the sacrifice to get where I wanted to be."

"Yes, you have," she whispered. "No risks taken."

"No risks taken," Grissom repeated. "Until now."

"I don't…" Sara pressed a hand to her chest, surprised at the strength and pace of her heartbeat. "I don't understand."

"Six months, Sara. Six months to do everything we should have done six years ago. Six months to get to know each other again, to find out if we're sexually compatible, romantically compatible. Six months to figure out a loophole in the employee fraternization rules. Whatever we have to do. But six months from today, I am going to kneel in front of you in the middle of the lab and ask you to be my wife."

When she found her voice again, she had only one more question for him. "Why?"

"Because." She could almost picture him frowning in adorable puzzlement. "I love you. Haven't I mentioned that?"

"No." A tear slipped down her cheek. She let it go; she'd only banned tears of sorrow, not of joy. "But they're always welcome words."

Several seconds passed. "Are you really all right?" Grissom asked. "I heard something break."

"I have glass in my foot," she replied, smiling. "I can't even feel it."

"Can I do anything? I have a first aid kit in my car."

She thought for a second. "Come on over."

* * *

_Cause it's you and me and all of the people with nothing to do,  
Nothing to prove.  
And it's you and me and all of the people,  
And I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you._

_- Lifehouse, "You and Me"_

* * *

Fini 


	2. Six Days

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: I live to make my readers happy and since so many people asked for a continuance of this story, I couldn't help but write one when the idea came to me in the shower the other day. Really, the shower. Don't ask; I get all my ideas there. Here's a little present from me to you, a "thank you" for all your kind reviews!

* * *

Six Months

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_"In six months, I'm going to ask you to marry me."_

Those words had changed Sara's life.

Of course, it had been more than just the words. Anyone could say anything they wanted; it was actions that spoke the loudest. Fortunately, Grissom's actions from that day on had put truth into his words.

For five months and twenty-nine days, he had courted her, as if they were characters in a romance novel. Long phone conversations had turned into soul-baring discussions by candlelight. Flirting had turned into artful double entendre. And dinners had turned into morning-after breakfasts.

He'd wooed her, wined her, dined her, made love to her, all as he had promised on that day. Sara had taken to keeping a calendar that she hid in her purse; she marked off each day, counting down until the one on which he would fulfill his greatest promise. The day they would become engaged, and finally go public with their relationship.

Not that they'd really been fooling anyone. At least not after Catherine dropped a pen on the floor during a meeting and went under the table to retrieve it, only to catch the tail-end of a very discreet game of footsie. Or after Nick, with Sara's permission, went into her purse for gum and came up with a handful of condoms. Or after Greg walked in on them kissing in the locker room. To sum up, they hadn't exactly been as discreet as possible.

But by the end of the next shift, there would be no more need to be inconspicuous. They could be open, out, free. Because sometime in the next eight hours, Grissom was going to propose to her, as promised six months earlier. And he was going to do it in the middle of the lab, with all their co-workers as witnesses.

Sara couldn't recall the last time she'd ever spent as much time picking out an outfit for work as she had on that night. Pants or skirt? A skirt would be too much; she never wore them. Shirt or tank? Shirt would cover more…but was that good or bad? Hair up or down, curled or straight? Makeup…barely there or slightly more? There were too many decisions, too many choices.

In the end, she went with a skirt, although it at least covered her knees. This would be her engagement and she was officially allowing herself the right to be a little bit girlier than usual. A long sleeved top of soft cotton clung to her body, outlining everything Grissom already knew by heart. But it couldn't hurt to remind him of what he'd be getting out of the whole engagement deal. She went with her usual hairstyle and just a touch more makeup than usual. And then she was ready. Maybe not ready for a crime scene, but ready for a proposal. And that was currently the only thing on her mind.

Sara drove to work, unable to keep a smile off of her face. Would do it right away, or would he make her wait for the whole shift? Or would it be a surprise? Whatever Grissom had planned, she was ready.

* * *

"Okay guys, listen up. Tonight, I'm Grissom." Catherine addressed the group of men gathered around the lounge. Frowning, she asked, "Where's Sara?"

"Late?" Greg volunteered as he poured himself a cup of coffee. Upon receiving a round of looks, he shrugged. "Hey, it's as weird to say as it is to hear."

Nick tossed a Nerf football to Warrick. "She'll be along. What'd you mean, you're Grissom tonight, Cath?"

"I'm forgoing waxing from now on in order to grow a beard," she retorted. "Grissom's out. Left a message on my cell. I'm in charge, what I say goes…you know, complete administrative authority for the next eight hours." She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Be afraid."

"Afraid of what?" Sara asked as she entered the room. All eyes turned to her. "Sorry I'm late. I was busy…"

"Putting on perfume?" Warrick guessed. "Smells nice, by the way."

"I second that," Nick added. "New shade of lipstick, too. Works with your skin tone."

"What are you wearing?" Catherine asked in a tone that wasn't entirely complimentary.

Greg ran an appreciative eye up and down Sara's legs, held in rein only by the gold wedding band on his left ring finger. "I think they call it a skirt."

"Oh, I've heard of them. I just didn't know Sara had."

"You're all just a riot," Sara snapped. "If they ever fire the Queer Eye guys, I know where they can get a few bitchy…excuse me…bitchin' replacements." She took a quick head count and came up one person short. "Is Grissom in his office?"

Something in her tone caused a few eyebrows to be raised. "Um…no," Catherine said. "Grissom's not going to be in tonight."

If there was a facial expression that gave away the fact that a person's heart had just been hit with a sledgehammer, it would have been the one on Sara's face. Several moments passed. "He's not?" she finally asked in a tiny voice that was decidedly uncharacteristic. "Why?"

"Something about a stomachache." The older woman rolled her eyes. "Please. You'd think once a man passes fifty he could learn to come up with a better story. I figure he's playing hooky. Probably to avoid…"

"Me."

Sara's softly spoken word had Catherine stunned for a minute. "Actually, I was going to say the pile of papers on his desk. You know…he's allergic to bureaucracy."

"Sara?" Nick frowned, worried. "Are you all right? You look pale."

"I'm fine," she whispered. "I just…think that stomach bug might be catching." She put a hand to her mouth and bolted for the door. "Excuse me."

"Should we go after her?" Greg asked, sharing a worried expression with Nick.

Warrick shook his head. "Not us. Catherine."

"What?" Catherine gave him an incredulous look. "Why?"

"Because. She's heading for the women's bathroom." Warrick shook his head. "No man's land."

"Did Grissom really say he had a stomachache?" Nick folded his arms over his chest. "Doesn't sound like Gris."

Catherine sighed. "I might have been…exaggerating a bit for effect. Or maybe the word is minimizing."

"What did Grissom say exactly?"

"He said he'd been puking. For a couple of hours. And that if he didn't stop soon, he was checking into the hospital. Food poisoning." She shrugged. "It's technically a stomachache. Right?" She was met with three blank stares. "What?"

"Examine the evidence, Catherine," Greg said. "Sara shows up late to work, dressed and dolled up, and anticipating Grissom's arrival. Grissom is a no show for, according to you, a weak excuse. Sara gets visibly upset."

"So what? She's always visibly upset."

Nick continued, "Something was supposed to happen tonight. A date after work, maybe. Something big." He looked at Catherine. "You've gotta tell her the whole version. Un-minimized."

"Or else we're all in for another round of 'will they, won't they'," Warrick finished up.

"If Grissom managed to get a message to me, don't you think he would have been able to get one to Sara, too?" she reasoned.

"Sara's been having trouble with her phone at home," Greg recalled. "She told me she was about ready to switch companies. Some of her incoming calls haven't been getting through."

"She does have a cell," Catherine reminded them.

"Which she left in my car yesterday after we drove out to that 419 at the Palms," Warrick said, plucking the object in question out of his back pocket. "I turned it off so it would go straight to voice mail for her."

"How much do you want to bet that there's one or two messages from Grissom?"

Catherine considered all of this evidence before letting out a long, self-suffering sigh. "Fine. But I've said it before and I'll say it again. Co-workers and lovers…it never works."

After she left to find Sara, Greg shook his head. "How is she the people person around here?"

* * *

You had to be more than merely infatuated with a man if you saw him in a hospital gown, holding a blue barf bag up to his mouth, and you still found him reasonably attractive. You had to be in love. It was like the ultimate test. If she'd had any doubts before, they all flew out the window when Sara parted the privacy curtain of the ER examination area and came upon a very pale, very sick Grissom…and instead of feeling angry or repulsed, all she wanted to do was take him into her arms and make him better.

"So this is where you've been hiding," she said, with a half-smile.

He refused to meet her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Sara."

"I know, baby." She moved closer to him, in order to lay her hand against his damp brow. "But you're the one who insists on eating meat."

"I'm never touching chicken again," Grissom swore. "But that's not what I'm apologizing for. I'm sorry that I…"

"Hey." Sara sat down on a stool that had been pulled up alongside his bed. "It's not your fault."

"I let you down. Again."

She shook her head. "'We promise according to our hopes, and perform according to our fears.' Francois duc de la Rochefoucauld."

There was a pause. "How long have you been sitting on that one?"

"Ten years," Sara admitted.

He smiled, then, just as quickly as it had come, the smile faded. "Do you believe Rochefoucauld?" He swallowed. "Do you think that's what happened tonight?"

"I don't think you planned to get food poisoning," she replied after a moment. "But I think…just maybe, you weren't entirely sorry that you did."

Grissom thought about her words for a full minute's worth of drops from the IV bag hooked into his arm. "No," he finally said.

Sara nodded, biting the inside of her cheek to keep her eyes from watering. "That's what I thought."

"No. I mean, no. That's not it. Eating undercooked chicken wasn't a subconsciously fortuitous event, Sara." He looked her straight in the eye. "It was the worst thing to happen at the worst time possible. Because I had every intention of fulfilling my promise tonight, in spite of any fears that either one of us might have."

She took a shaky breath. "You did?"

"I did. I even have the ring. Check my pants pocket." He pointed to the tan slacks folded up in another chair.

Sara pulled out the little black velvet box with trembling hands. "Two carats in a platinum band," she whispered. "Hard to disapprove."

"I had to show up Greg Sanders just a bit." A wave of nausea hit him and he reached for his blue bag.

When the bout passed, Sara smoothed a stray, salt and pepper curl off his forehead and wiped his mouth with a wet towel a nurse thoughtfully provided. "At least we'll never forget this moment," Sara told him, looking on the bright side. "It'll make for a priceless engagement story."

"I'm not asking you to marry me," Grissom said, settling back into the pillows. "Not here, not like this. Even if I have to break part of my vow, you are going to get the proposal you were promised." He closed his eyes. "I won't be too late…will I?"

Sara folded her hands around his and brushed a kiss across his knuckles. "You really, really won't be."

* * *

Six months and six days after Greg Sanders' proposal, the crime lab was treated to another public display of affection when Gil Grissom asked Sara Sidle to be his lover, the mother of his children, his devil's advocate, his student, his teacher, his partner…his wife.

There were no bets as to what her answer would be.

* * *

Fini (for real this time) 


End file.
